


illicit (Dean x Daughter!Reader) Oneshot

by neganslucilletblr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dad!Dean, Daddy Kink, Daughter!Reader - Freeform, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father/Daughter Incest, Incest, Major daddy issues, Orgasms, Praise Kink, Protective Dean Winchester, Sex, Size Kink, Smut, Wincest - Freeform, another reason i'm going to hell, inappropriate relationship, p in v, see you there bitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neganslucilletblr/pseuds/neganslucilletblr
Summary: Illicit - adjective - forbidden by law, rules, or custom.And that's the thing about illicit affairs, and clandestine meetings and longing stares - It's born from just one single glance, but it dies, and it dies, and it dies a million little times
Relationships: Dean x You, Dean/Daughter!reader, Dean/You, dean x daughter!reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 91





	illicit (Dean x Daughter!Reader) Oneshot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @spookydeansams’s 1541 Follower celebration (on tumblr). My prompt was the song Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift (some lyrics dotted throughout).   
> I had sorta this idea for a Dean x daughter!reader oneshot and when I listened to the song to think of something for this challenge, I realised they seemed to work together well. This has made me excited for my Dean x daughter!Reader series (that is gonna be darker and a whole lot smuttier than this) Hope you enjoy a venture down this new avenue…

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” His voice is strained and breathy, and it’s everything you don’t want to hear, so you ignore him and rotate your hips harder, face buried into the side of his neck, the skin getting damp with your heavy breathing. “ _ Fuck,  _ we shouldn’t be doing this.” You whimper in protest - because he’s right. He’s  _ so fucking right,  _ but you don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to admit it. You reach between you and start to unbuckle his belt, pulling it apart clumsily. His fingertips dig into the curve of your spine and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, biting down on his bottom lip, like he’s trying to muster all the willpower he can find to stop this. Because you  _ shouldn’t  _ be doing this. Nothing remotely  _ close  _ to this. But it’s all you can think about since the last time, and it’s all you’ll think about until the next. 

_ “I’ve urm, I’ve never done this before,” he tells you awkwardly, playing with the knife and fork placed on his napkin. His green eyes are anywhere but on you, and he’s bouncing his knee under the table so hard that his whole body shakes slightly from the movement.  _

_ “Well, that’s good I guess,” you offer. “Me neither, obviously,” you feel yourself blush. He bites his bottom lip and nods his head, before clearing his throat. _

_ “So urm, your Mom told me that you dropped out of college,” he tries.  _

_ “Yeah, wasn’t for me.” He nods again and you bite your own bottom lip anxiously. You stare at him for a long moment, notice the freckles dusted along his cheeks like yours, watch his plump lips twitch now and then, his green eyes darting around the room. And you realise how wildly inappropriate it is to find this man attractive - but you do anyway. Because he is - ridiculously so. And there’s something so deep inside you that’s desperate for his love and approval, even if you’re making him think you couldn’t care less what he thinks.  _

_ “Dean?” you press, prompting him to look at your face for the first time in a while. _ _   
_ _ “Yeah?” he asks, staring right at you for a moment.  _

_ “You know I’m not looking for a father, right?” you check.  _

_ “Then what are you looking for?” He tilts his head to one side and waits for your reply.  _

_ “I don’t know, let’s just see where this takes us.”  _

Dean reaches up and cups your face in his hands, kissing you harder, tongue licking between your lips and you whimper, gripping at his wrists to keep him holding you just like this. The Impala creaks as you rock your hips against him again, and Dean gasps in the air from your own lungs. Long gone from both of your minds’ are the words he’s just dared to utter. Because you  _ could  _ stop, you’re both sure of it. You just don’t want to. There was a time that he took you places, tried to be a normal father figure by taking you for dinner, or to the movies, and they morphed into hotel rooms, that morphed into motel rooms, that morphed into the backseat of his old fashioned car in some deserted parking lot in the dead of night. You’d both set out to get to know each other, having missed out on nineteen years of your lives together, but the ways you really knew him now, were ways no daughter should ever know her own father - no matter how surreal it is to either of you that you share that biological bond. 

He flips you over, laying you down on the leather seat and leaning over you, and he rushes to open your shirt to reveal your simple black bra. There was a time when things like that would be special, when you spent your earnings on red lace and fancy make up, but overtime those efforts slipped away - once you knew he’d want you regardless. Once you knew that these feelings were unconditional. You’d started wearing your regular clothes, leaving the perfume he’d bought you in the early days untouched on your dresser. It always left behind a lingering smell on his clothes no matter how little you used, and that was a risk you couldn’t afford to be taking. Not with an Uncle as curious as Sam. Dean’s kisses trail down your neck and over your chest as he reaches for your jeans and starts to undo them. You lift your hips to aid him in pulling them down, rushing to undo his too. 

He’s hard and throbbing when you finally get your hand inside his boxers. Dean growls under his breath, now even more eager to get inside your cotton panties. 

“Fuck baby, make Daddy so hard for you,” Dean groans, getting impatient with your pants and leaving them around your knees. His hand instantly pushes between your thighs and seeks out your heat. “And fuck, baby girl, soaked for me, ain’t ya?” Dean smirks, teasing his fingertips against your entrance.    
“Always, Daddy, need you so fucking bad, please,” you plead, squirming under his touch. You start working your palm over his throbbing cock harder and he hisses.

“Jesus, sweetheart, gonna make Daddy cum already,” he warns. He pulls back, out of your grasp and grips your hips, lifting you and encouraging you onto your hands and knees. 

You grip at the door and rock back on your knees, feeling his hand between your legs again.

“Please, Daddy, please please,” you whine desperately. Dean chuckles, two fingers first knuckle deep in your heat as he strokes over your sweet spot slowly. 

“C’mon now, sweetheart, know you can’t take Daddy without some prep,” Dean taunts, scissoring his fingers. You whimper, knowing he’s right. He’s always a tight fit. Dean’s hand presses flat over your hip as he begins to grip it tightly, and you hold your breath as you anticipate what always comes next.

It still surprises you how much pressure there is when he’s pressing against your opening like that, like he’s never going to fit - but he always does. 

“Breathe, baby girl,” Dean soothes, his thumb stroking back and forth along your hip - the callouses on the end of it from years of manual labor scratch against your soft skin. “There we go, let Daddy in,” he encourages - and you do, still not over that desperate need to be the perfect daughter, do everything he asks, make him proud. You just want to be his  _ good girl.  _ “Damn baby, still so tight,” he groans. He’s all the way in now, and his praise showers down on you like a comfort blanket and makes you feel so secure. Your eyes flutter closed, and you dare to rock your hips against him, feeling him slide in and out slowly. Your fingers are clinging to the metal door frame as the car rocks with your movements, and Dean grips your hip tighter and folds himself over you, biting at the back of your neck. 

“Such a good girl for Daddy, baby, taking me like this.” 

  
  


_ Dean has been in your life for about six months now, and the general everyday conversations are starting to come easy enough to you both as you get more and more comfortable with each other. Hell, even the inappropriate glances, teasing moments, flirty comments, are easier than this. The conversation has gotten serious - you’re not sure how, because normally by now one of you has forcibly changed the subject. And you’re not even sure why you blurted it out of your damn mouth. You knew your father well enough by now to know he doesn’t say it - not with words. He says it in his own  _ **_get home safely, are you sure you’re okay? Call me if you need me_ ** _ ways. But the girl with a million Daddy issues just had to open her damn mouth and say it.  _

_ “You know how much I care about you, Y/N,” Dean reminds you, clearly struggling, and it’s not the words you’re desperate for, but you know it’s all he’s got to offer you. “You’re…” he trails off and shakes his head. It has never actually been addressed - just what you are to each other - not with words at least. “Of course I feel the same way.” _

_ “Then how come you’ve never said it?” You just can’t stop yourself, can’t put the shovel down as you dig yourself deeper. You should be accepting what he’s given you and thanking him for it, not pushing for more.  _

_ “Guess I find it hard to say,” Dean confesses, “I’m better at showing it.”  _

  
  


And he did show it - still does - in the only way he knows how you suppose, and you’re willing to take what you can get. Hungry for it - anything he gives you. And it was inevitable it came to this, because you still don’t look at Dean and see  _ Dad,  _ you look at him and see some man you love, that you’re desperate to receive validation from. And you  _ know  _ that what you’re doing is wrong, and it’s in no way a condition of his love, but you want it anyway - you crave it, come to rely on it. Because somewhere the lines blurred, and maybe it’s because he wasn’t there to watch you blow out nineteen years worth of birthday candles, maybe it’s because he didn’t teach you how to ride a bike or tie your laces. Maybe it’s because he’s not your Dad, not without DNA. And it’s not his fault - no one’s fault really. It’s just the way it is, and the way it is now is fucked up at best. 

“Love that little pussy so much,” Dean groans, sending himself deeper. And you tell yourself to ignore it, that it’s  _ different,  _ but you can’t help wondering if he can say it because loving something like that is easier than loving  _ you.  _ But he doesn’t mean it, not properly. It’s just a throw away phrase, he’s just drunk on arousal and endorphins, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. “Fuck, sweetheart, making Daddy wanna cum,” he grunts, and you whimper, reaching back to grip at his arm, digging your nails in. “Gonna cum with me, baby?” You nod, your whole body tired. Dean grips you and pulls you up, flush to his chest, and you reach around to grip the back of his neck as he kisses and nibbles at the delicate skin on your shoulder. He’s so  _ deep  _ this way that you can’t think of anything but the bruised feeling deep in the base of your stomach, the shake in your legs as you near closer and closer to the edge of your climax. 

_ “Listen, I’ve gotta go away for a week or so, but I promise I’ll be back to see you as soon as I can.” He’s clearly been nervous to tell you from the way he blurts it out the second the Impala stops, and you find yourselves parked in yet another deserted parking lot that looks just like the last twenty you’ve visited.  _

_ “When?” you ask, frowning.  _

_ “Tomorrow morning.” Dean doesn’t look at you, just out into the dark beyond the windshield.  _ _   
_ _ “Where are you going?” you ask next.  _

_ “I’ve got work, sweetheart, few states over.” It’s not really any kind of explanation because he’s still not told you what he even does for work - not really. You’ve been seeing him most nights recently, and you’re not ready to let that go just yet.  _

_“Can I come with you?” You don’t care if it’s clingy, if it’s_ ** _too much._** _What if he doesn’t come back? What if this is him leaving you? The novelty of you wearing off._

_ “No, baby, I’m sorry. But I’ll be back, I promise,” he offers you a gentle smile. _

_ You lift your eyes to look at the backseat of the car through the rearview mirror and bite your bottom lip, sliding out of the car and getting into the back. Dean meets your eyes through the mirror and scoffs. _ _   
_ _ “Well, if you’re gonna be gone a while, you should probably say goodbye properly, right?” you prompt, popping the top two buttons open on your flannel, just flashing enough cleavage. Dean shakes his head.  _

_ “Sweetheart, c’mon, you know the last time was the last time.” You lean forward and trace your fingernails across the back of his neck, just below his hairline.  _

_ “Well why don’t we make  _ **_this time_ ** _ the last time, and then when you return, it won’t happen again?”  _

“That’s it, sweetheart, cum on Daddy’s cock,” Dean hums, his large hand palming at your breast as your high rolls over you in wave after wave, and he holds you close, keeping still as you ride out your orgasm. When you’re finally coming down, he thrusts a few more times and stills, hips stuttering, and a loud moan echoes around the car. He slowly releases your hip, and you feel your pulse beneath the surface where the ghost of his fingers still linger, and he crashes down to sit on the seat, pulling you into his lap and holding you against his chest. 

“You okay?” he asks softly, pushing your hair out of your face to kiss your forehead. 

“Mhm,” you hum quietly, nodding your head in the crook of his neck. 

After a few more silent moments he speaks up again. 

“Sure you’re okay, baby girl? You’re quiet,” he notes. 

“I’m fine, Dean,” you reassure him. You’re playing with the neckline of his henley and move your head slightly, feeling the scratch of the stubble on the underside of his chin along your forehead. “I love you,” you tell him softly. Dean stiffens, and it doesn’t go unnoticed to you, but he still strokes your thigh.

“You too.” And it’s the closest you’re sure you’re ever going to get, so you begrudgingly take it as a win. You know you’ll never get this with anyone else. He gently pushes you off of his lap and climbs out of the car as he works on getting himself redressed properly. You take a deep breath and look out the window at him, redressing yourself, and then Dean moves as if to get into the driver’s seat. But you’re not ready for him to take you home. 

You climb out of the car from the other side and look over the roof at him. 

“I don’t wanna go yet,” you tell him. 

“We’ve got to, it’s getting late, your Mom will wonder where you are.” You shake your head, not caring about what your Mom has to say.

“I’m safe, she knows I’m with you. You’re my Dad.” Dean’s eyes instantly leave you and he turns around, holding a hand over his mouth. You’ve never actually said  _ that  _ to him before. It’s different during sex - like some silly pet name that doesn’t actually  _ mean anything  _ \- just like it doesn’t to all the other people who use it. Just because, technically, he  _ is,  _ doesn’t change that. “I want to come with you,” you add. Dean sighs, can barely look at you, and he reaches down to open his door. “Dean, please,” you beg. 

“I’ve already said you can’t. C’mon kid, get in the car.” 

“Don’t call me kid,” you snap. Dean seems just as thrown out with his comment, the reminder of just how young you are compared to him is painful. Yet another reason you shouldn’t be doing this - as if sharing DNA isn’t enough. 

“Sorry, baby, please just-”

“No, don’t call me baby either,” you choke. Dean frowns. “Not if you’re gonna leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you, Y/N, I promise, I’m just - I’m going away for a week, that’s all.” But you can’t believe him. You want to, so damn much, but you can’t. Because everything good leaves you, and Dean’s the best you’ve ever found. The best that’s ever been yours. You start to cry softly, and Dean closes his door and rounds the car to take you in his arms. 

“Hey, c’mon sweetheart, it’s okay,” he soothes. You feel like some idiotic fool crying because he’s leaving for a week, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He holds you and kisses your hairline, and as you wrap your arms around his waist you finally start to feel a little better. You’d do anything for this man, over and over to make him happy. “I’m not leaving you, baby, you gotta believe me, I’m not.” You hold on tighter, and suddenly he’s your  _ Dad -  _ and this is so fucked up, because between your legs is still uncomfortable, and you shouldn’t want to crawl back into the backseat and let him make you feel better - but you do, more than anything. “I’m gonna be back. You know why?” he presses. You shake your head against his chest, hearing his heartbeat pick up. “Because you’re my baby girl, and I love you.”


End file.
